by Rainer Maria Rilke
Center of all centers, core of cores, almond self-enclosed, and growing sweet—all this universe, to the furthest stars all beyond them, is your flesh, your fruit.
Now you feel how nothing clings to you; your vast shell reaches into endless space, and there the rich, thick fluids rise and flow. Illuminated in your infinite peace,
a billion stars go spinning through the night, blazing high above your head. But in you is the presence that will be, when all the stars are dead.
“Some of his poems are as if he’s consoling God for what’s happened to his creation”
Many on the spiritual path rightfully long for a sudden point in time when a shift happens
Meanwhile, someplace in the world, somebody is making love and another a poem.
The seed of life is within us all, our dance here is mundane, strange and wonderful.
Where do you see a window you can open for a subtle sacrament to slip into your day?
to fashion universes out of emptiness
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